Oaths: A Dark Promise
by Dasque
Summary: An alternate ending to my story Oaths. Will probably be 2 chapters? Possibly 3? Not really sure yet. Rated M to play it safe. First chapter is strictly Alistair & Morrigan
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** I'm sorry this took me so long to get posted – I got hit by a kidney infection this week and was not exactly coherent. As promised, this is the alternate ending to my story Oaths. Although I tried throughout this tale to adhere to the guidelines set by the game, I took more liberties with this ending. I don't like manipulating Alistair towards the end, though I understand that the writers were walking a fine line between leaving the course of the game in the player's hands and not making Alistair appear too eager to take part in the ritual. However, I have more freedom. I wrote this ending to fit into my story, so I didn't repeat scenes I already covered. Enjoy._

* * *

Alistair couldn't say what awoke him that night, except the sudden feeling that he was alone. The position of the stars told him it was near midnight, but Rhiann's side of the bed was empty and cold, like she had been gone for some time. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, wondering who had called her away this time. With a sigh he got up and dressed, determined to track her down and force her to get some sleep before the march in the morning. Between the meeting with Riordan and whatever had happened with Morrigan she had been through enough for one evening, had looked pale and sickly before he managed to coerce her to coming to bed. What more did these people want from her? Were they now incapable of loading up carts and finding matching socks without her assistance?

A guard was stationed just outside the door, a precaution he had been unaware of. It must have been Eamon's doing.

"Something amiss, Your Majesty?" the man asked, and Alistair bit back a caustic reply. Best start getting used to it now, he supposed.

"Yes," he answered, only a little more sharply then he meant to. "The Grey Warden who came here with me. Have you seen her?"

"Thought I saw her talking to that _elf_," the man said with a sour twist to his mouth. Alistair's eyes narrowed, but he didn't bother to correct him. There would be time for dealing with prejudices amongst his soldiers later. And after all, maybe the man had simply _met_ Zevran. He couldn't fault him the disgusted tone, if that were the case.

"Where did they go?"

"To the balcony, I believe, Your Majesty."

With a nod of dismissal he headed in the direction indicated, and when he spotted them together just outside the doors he had to fight back a rising tide of irritation. Why was it whenever they got even a moment of peace that smarmy bastard always managed to share it? Though he had overcome his jealousy towards the elf, he still couldn't understand why Rhiann put so much faith in his supposed friendship. As far as he was concerned, Zevran couldn't be counted as trustworthy until he was _gone_.

Rhiann and the assassin seemed engrossed in a serious conversation, and as he debated whether or not interrupting them would be terribly possessive of him, his attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere. A dog ran past him in the hallway. It would normally would not draw his notice, even though it was not one of the mabari so often seen with armies, except as it passed a cold shiver ran up his spine, a warning from his Templar training that magic was near. Momentarily distracted, he allowed his gaze to follow the animal and just before it turned the corner, it glanced back at him with large, golden eyes.

_Oh, no you don't, _he thought angrily, and hurried to catch up to it.

Morrigan had shifted back into her human form when he rounded the corner, glancing furtively down the hall as she tried to enter the chamber set aside for Rhiann. She looked up, startled to see him stalking towards her.

"Alistair! What -"

Without a word he grabbed her arm and hauled her into the empty chamber, ignoring her indignant squawk of protest.

"Unhand me, fool, or I will-"

"You'll _what_?" he taunted, shoving her into the room before him and closing the door. With a snap of her fingers Morrigan lit the candles scattered about the chamber, her breath coming in angry gasps as she glared at him.

"I _hate_ you," she hissed, infuriated by the idea that he had the power to manhandle her.

"I'm _crushed_. Really I am," he drawled, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here, Morrigan?"

"'Twas you who dragged me in here, was it not?" she bit out, her yellow gaze smoldering as if she'd like nothing better than to torch him where he stood.

"Rhiann told me you left," he said, ignoring the sarcasm. "I'm curious as to why the part where you're _gone_ hasn't occurred yet."

"She told you?" Brought up short, she blinked in surprise. Understanding dawned on her fierce expression and she smiled, a bitter twist to her mouth. "Did she tell you why, I wonder?"

"What _why_? I always knew you'd run for the hills as soon as you got whatever it was you wanted from us. Forgive me if I'm impatient to see it happen."

"I see. Apparently our dear Warden would keep you in the dark as well. Pity. I would think you a little old to hide behind her skirts."

"Rhiann doesn't wear skirts." _So not the point._ "And what are you talking about? What did you say to her, anyway?"

She shook her head. "Far be it for me to intrude on premarital bliss. I'm sure she had her own reasons for not coercing you into saving your own skin."

He growled beneath his breath and battled the urge to forcibly shake the information from her. Which is just what mood she was aiming for, he was sure. She was drawing far to much enjoyment from his apparent frustration. "I'm going to ask you just once more, and then I may forcibly toss you out of this castle myself and go back to bed. What did you say to Rhiann?"

She gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders, poorly mimicking indifference. "I offered her an alternative."

"An alternative?"

"Yes. You are familiar with the word, I think?" She smirked at exasperated glower. "Very well, if you truly feel you can live with the knowledge. I am aware of your dilemma, you see. I know why a Grey Warden must be the one to slay the archdemon, and what sacrifice is required for such an act."

"What? How did you-" he shook his head, unsure which question to ask first. "Never mind. What alternative could you possibly offer?"

"There is a ritual," she said calmly, sauntering over to sit on the edge of the bed before crossing her legs. "It will save the Grey Warden who takes the final blow from the killing power of the archdemon."

Alistair eyed her suspiciously. If such magic existed, why didn't the Wardens know about it? Even more importantly, why would Rhiann keep it from him? "What exactly does this ritual involve?"

He didn't like the predatory smile she gave him at all. "It would involve you laying with me. Here. Tonight. Under the influence of the full moon."

"_What?!_" He felt like she had hit him, was quite certain he couldn't have heard that correctly. "You mean – you want – we would have to-"

"For someone who spends a great deal of time participating in the act, 'tis rather amusing to see you still have difficulty saying it."

"Not with _you_, though!" he sputtered.

"And truly, it is your talent for stating the obvious that makes me thankful for that. However, there is no other way."

Maker's breath, she was _serious_. She merely looked at him, as cool and collected as if she were offering him a glass of water. How did one even begin to respond to such a proposition? He took a deep breath and forced himself to think rationally. There was something here that she was hiding, of that he was sure. It would be foolish to take so much as an apple from Morrigan, even if you already knew it was poisoned, without checking it for worms as well. "Say I was even considering this, and I most vehemently am _not_ - why would you even suggest such a thing? What are you getting out of it?"

She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "I would – do what I can to assist you. I do not relish the thought of Rhiann dying when I have the power to prevent it."

That silenced him, calmed his raging incredulity somewhat. It was true that the only concern he had ever seen Morrigan display – if it could even be called that – was for Rhiann. He didn't doubt her sincerity, but there remained a nagging bit of logic in the back of his mind that didn't quite add up. "I'm no mage."

"What has that to do with anything?"

"I know something of magic, even your 'old ways'. Sex is used in rituals to harness shared power, and I have none. For all intents and purposes, I should be useless to you. So what aren't you telling me?"

She blinked at him owlishly in sheer surprise. _Honestly_. She must have believed he knew _nothing_ about the powers he was trained to fight. She set her mouth mulishly, apparently debating whether or not she was going to answer. He simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the door, reminding her that he stood between her and the only exit. He was fairly positive he could wait her out, if it came down to it.

"Very well," she snapped unwillingly. "Though it should not concern you. The ritual will produce a child."

"A... that shouldn't _concern_ me?" he practically shouted.

"No."

"Care to explain how _exactly_ you think that's going to _work_?"

"You allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The babe is mine to raise as I wish. You will never see either of us again."

"Until whatever beast you spawn comes crashing into Ferelden with an army and blood ties to the _throne_."

She snorted at that. "I care nothing for your Ferelden politics. I need you because of the taint in your blood, not whatever seal of royalty these fools have pressed upon you. The essence of the archdemon will be drawn to the child like a beacon. At this early stage the demon will be destroyed, but the child will live, and it's soul will be that of the old god, untainted and whole."

Alistair leaned heavily against the door, reeling. No wonder Rhiann hadn't told him. The very notion of carrying out this plot was too heinous to be considered. Yet the churning in his gut told him otherwise. Rather than laughing in her face and walking away, he was actually considering her alternative, weighing the consequences in his mind. He tried to will himself to move, to leave, to get out of this situation before it got the better of him, but he couldn't budge. Rhiann had been able to refuse her. She saw death as the preferable option...

He felt suddenly sicker than he had before. The image of her speaking to Zevran on the balcony flashed through his mind. That was what she had intended. She planned to keep the ritual a secret from him, and deliver the final blow herself. It was insane to trust Riordan would definitely live throughout the battle, to believe that there was no chance of it coming down to Rhiann or himself. She was already setting up safeguards against such an occurrence, taken the steps necessary to ensure that it would never be _him_.

Alistair didn't much like the notion of pitting his wits against hers in order to keep her alive. She was a wily thing, willing to stoop to any ruse or trick to get what she wanted. If Riordan fell before he could save them, she would die. That was the way she wanted it.

His vision swam and for a moment he couldn't breathe. He was aware of Morrigan watching him with calculated interest and he didn't care. This was resting solely on him – for once he couldn't run to Rhiann and let her talk him down in that calm, reasonable way she had. There was no one here but the witch, no one would have to know of his fall. He trusted Morrigan to keep her silence, if nothing else.

There was only one option, as far as he could see.

He wouldn't let her die.

"Were you waiting for a heart warming farewell, or may I go now?" Morrigan demanded, twisting the knife that much deeper.

Alistair shook his head and grit out, "You're not going anywhere."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "No?" she purred dangerously, as if daring him to try and stop her. She could only be bullied so far with the threat of Templar abilities.

"No," he repeated, not recognizing the sound of his own voice. He stood up and took sadistic satisfaction in the disbelieving look on her face when he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside to fall somewhere in the darkness of the room. It was a sign of surrender and a gauntlet thrown in one. He would do this, but he'd be _damned_ if he let her see how terrified he was. "Let's get this over with."

A satisfied smile curved her mouth, and the witch's eyes gleamed in triumph.

~*~

The power that Morrigan summoned for the ritual was intoxicating, a wild force of magic in its purest form that went straight to his head like mead. He had thought this would be nearly impossible, but no – in the midst of raw energy his traitorous body responded readily enough with no more encouragement then a warm, willing female beneath him. He felt distanced from his surroundings, a being of want and need driven purely by desire. The magic billowed in humming waves and claimed him, and as he reached his completion he felt it rushing past him, drawn back into the witch that had summoned it. Without it the room was left feeling cold and barren, abruptly devoid of the life she had filled it with.

And he was left only with the horror of what he had done.

As the fog lifted from his brain, he disentangled himself from her and scrambled back, yanking up the breeches he hadn't even bothered to remove, fumbling a little as his hands began to shake. He collapsed on the edge of the bed and cradled his head, feeling dizzy and a more than a little sick. From the corner of his eye he saw Morrigan lift a hand as if to reach for him, perhaps to get his attention. His hand shot out, catching her wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Don't … don't touch me," he breathed. There was no bite behind the words, and he hastily loosened his grasp, dimly aware he was probably hurting her.

"As you wish, then," she answered, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying very hard not to associate the voice as the same one that had been crying out in unholy passion only moments before. Morrigan sighed, and he felt the shift in the mattress as she stretched languidly behind him. "I must admit, that wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I feared it would be."

She was only making it _worse_. He needed to get out of here. Right now, before he lost what last bit of control he had and ran from the room screaming at the top of his lungs. Hastily he got to his feet and stumbled over to his discarded shirt, pulling it over his head as he tried to beat a hasty retreat.

"Alistair." Her voice stopped him, sending unpleasant chills in icy waves down his back. She leaned forward, wrapped in the sheets to spare him the sight of her body. "There will come a time when you do not hate yourself for this nearly as much as you do now."

Was she trying to comfort him? He might have said so, had it not been Morrigan. It didn't help, regardless. He paused with his hand on the latch of the door. "I don't ever want to see you again," he said, low and quiet. He had never been so serious about anything in his life.

She simply nodded, of a like mind. "I trust you will remember that, in the years to come."

He practically ran from the room, desiring nothing more than to scrub the scent of her off of him. Without coherent thought he started for the courtyard, trying to ignore the questioning looks he earned as he passed.

_ Unclean_.

It seemed his sin was written across his face, that the taint of blood magic was seared into his skin. What a self righteous fool he was, that he could hold Morrigan in contempt for her practices, only to succumb to them in the end to save his own life.

_Not my life_, his mind screamed in denial, _not my own life_. Yet the excuse rang hollow and empty, because regardless, his actions were selfishly motivated. He didn't want to have to live without her. Every man has his price, Morrigan had told him once. It was a crushing, gut-wrenching realization to discover what that price was.

It seemed like an eternity before he made it to the main entrance of the castle and shoved the doors open, stepping out into the night. The cold air hit him like a blast, eradicating the lingering vestiges of magic and confusion that stubbornly clung to him, clearing his head. He prayed Rhiann was already sleeping. He could picture her in his mind as he drew a bucket of water from the well and dumped it over his head, heedless of the icy temperature. She always slept the same way, lying on her side with her arms tucked beneath her and her knees drawn up. Curling herself into a ball, he teasingly called it. Another freezing splash of water and he braced his hands against the stone, trembling. She could be waiting for him, even now, wondering where he was.

The courtyard was completely empty, sparing the castle's inhabitants the sight of the king of Ferelden on his hands and knees in the tall grasses, heaving up his guts.

* * *

_It'll get happier, I promise!_


	2. Chapter 2

Rhiann woke up with a dull throb behind her eyeballs that crept to a sharper pain in her temple, as though all the weight she had taken upon herself last night had become a physical burden and her body was at long last voicing a complaint that it was _just too much_. But the army was beginning its extended march at dawn and she rolled over with a sigh, ignoring the complaint for the time being.

The bed was empty beside her, and remembering, she lifted her head and glanced around. Alistair was there, hurriedly pulling a chainmail shirt over his head, already dressed and shaved. That in itself was not unusual – due to his Chantry upbringing he was easily the early riser of the two – but she was unsure if he had ever returned to bed last night, and a harried look she was unused to seeing on him marred his expression. Every movement he made bespoke tension. Rhiann had assumed when she found him gone that Arl Eamon's increasing demands for his time had merely called him away again – she had no doubt the elder gentlemen hadn't slept at all – but now she wondered.

As if sensing her gaze Alistair looked up, and his eyes went inexplicably guarded.

"I was about to wake you," he said, not quite meeting her eyes as he gestured to the small table in the corner. "I grabbed you something to eat before the soldiers could devour it all, but you'd better hurry. We're leaving within the hour."

"Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" she asked, her voice still hoarse with sleep. She rubbed her eyes and pushed the covers back, not longing for the nights ahead when there would be no more soft beds to sleep in.

"I was going to, but you looked like you needed to sleep." The defenses in his gaze dropped momentarily and he watched in concern as she stumbled over to the table in her bedclothes and picked up a loaf of bread. "You _still_ look like you need to sleep, actually. Do you think while we're on the road you can set aside the fact that you're everyone's new hero and do that? Sleep, I mean?"

The taste of warm bread and melted butter had made her realize she was ravenous and she shrugged, not willing to stop chewing long enough to answer him.

"Oh good - silence. Not really the answer I was looking for, but at least the one that I was expecting," he commented with a grin, but the humor felt weak and forced in the mysterious thickness that had somehow cropped up between them over night. Rhiann wasn't sure what was going on and was less certain if it was a subject she should even broach now or worry about later. Her nerves bunched when she thought that she usually waited a few days before she tried to worm a confession from Alistair, and now suddenly she couldn't promise she had that much 'later' left to her. The food that had tasted so heavenly moments before turned to ashes in her mouth and she tossed the rest of it back to the table, her headache expanding to tighten the muscles along the back of her neck.

Alistair was ready to go and had thrown himself into the room's only other chair. He was as upset and unhappy as she had ever seen him, and her concern for him increased. Quietly she approached him and laid a hand on his arm.

Without warning he jerked it away, as if loathe to touch her. Rhiann could not have been more shocked if he had suddenly struck her. She backed away, and he hastily shot to his feet, wide-eyed and stammering. "I'm sorry, you just surprised me. I'm a little on edge. This is a big day for us."

He didn't expect her to believe that, did he? She had seen the disgust on his face, and saw the guilt that replaced it now. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing intentionally in an effort to disguise the hurt there, and the very notion that she was forced to use such tactics with _Alistair _was perhaps the most bewildering thing that had happened to her yet. "What is going on, Alistair?"

"Nothing. I was just..." Whatever excuse he had been about to utter trailed away and he dropped his head with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not you. You didn't do anything. And I'll tell you... _everything_. But, believe me when I say now's not the time."

"Since when do you make it a habit to hide things from me?"

"Since an army of _darkspawn_ began marching on the nation's capital!" he snapped, worn too thin to try and placate her. "This whole _Blight_ thing has got to come first. This conversation is going to take more time then we have the luxury of spending right now," he reached for his cloak, muttering beneath his breath so she couldn't be sure she heard the next part correctly, "And I don't much relish the idea of deflecting pointy weapons before we even _get_ there."

"Oh, _now_ the Blight takes top priority." She was being childish, but she was still stinging from his reaction and her nerves were frazzled. She didn't like cryptic, liked it even less when it was used to discuss a relationship she hadn't realized anything was _wrong _with, and any logic he produced now was beating against a wall of stubbornly _not caring._ "You were content enough to put it off when it meant running to the Circle Tower and fetching obscure relics, but suddenly you don't have two minutes to _talk_ to me?"

Alistair only rolled his eyes at her, so condescending that she felt her fingers curl. "Fine, you want to talk?" He crossed his arms and his eyes narrowed, and she had never felt such a strong desire to hit him in her life. "Why don't we start with whatever it is _you've_ been keeping from _me_?"

"I – what?"

"Remembered that, have you? You disappear for over an hour last night, then show up barely hanging on by a thread and refuse to tell me _anything _except that Morrigan is inexplicably gone. Then I wake up in the middle of the night and you're gone _again_. You conveniently forget that this bond works _two_ ways. Do you think I can't _feel_ that you're hiding something from me?"

That took the fight out of her, completely. He was right. She had the gall to sit her put him through interrogation when she had kept a colossal decision, concerning _him_, all to herself. She hadn't even realized that of course he would have missed her while she talked to Zevran, and wondered if he had seen. Even she had to admit it would look suspicious. For someone who kept insisting he wasn't stupid, she did a fine job of trying to treat him that way. But if he had been awake then...

Either he felt her shift in mood or her expression mirrored her guilt because Alistair looked instantly remorseful for his harsh assessment. With a sigh he took the steps between them and put his arms around her. "I'm sorry, love." She felt his lips brush the top of her head. "I don't even know why I'm yelling at you. But no matter how much I may want to, we can't do this right now. You know it as well as I do."

"I know." She wanted to let the whole thing go, but the mention of Morrigan had kicked her mind into working, and some of the pieces were fitting together to make a very uncomfortable kind of sense. She stepped away from him, careful to keep her voice empty of accusation as she asked, "Where did you spend the night last night?"

"In here," he answered, but his eyes were wandering the room again, refusing to land on her. "It was just so late by the time I came up, I didn't want to disturb you." He kissed her forehead and promptly turned his back on her, headed for the door. "I'll meet you downstairs."

Rhiann stared at the closed door in disbelief. He wouldn't, not without telling her. Would he? She sank to the edge of the bed and stared at the floor, her stomach twisting. Her Alistair, and Morrigan...

She hastily began to dress herself to give her hands and brain something to _do_, trying to push the unwelcome suspicion from her mind. If Morrigan had caught him alone before she vanished...but why wouldn't he tell her? Didn't he realize that she had only said no for _his_ sake? She certainly wasn't about to accuse him of _straying_ in such an cruel situation. He must have known that.

She sighed to herself. Of course he didn't know. He didn't know anything. He didn't know what last night had cost her, how near torture it had been to see a glimmer of hope only to have it snatched away again. He didn't know what she thought or felt about any of this, because she had chosen not to tell him. And now she couldn't even confront him about it, because if she were wrong in her guess then he was still unaware of the pact she had turned down, and finding out about it _now_ would only make him furious. She couldn't stand that. She needed him too much in the days to come. Her half truths and secrets had twisted to form a noose around her neck, and she only had herself to blame.

She paced the floor as she finished arming herself, seething. None of this was _fair. _They should have been informed about the sacrifice required of Grey Wardens long ago, not left to learn about it a matter of days before the final battle. She would have handed that traitor Loghain the Joining chalice herself - and forced it down his throat if he proved reluctant. Instead it seemed those closest to her were the most determined to break her will, to grind her down to nothing. Frustration at Duncan and Morrigan and the entire ugly situation exploded in her chest, and in rage she picked up the nearest thing to her – a pottery vase – and hurled it at the wall. It shattered with satisfying force, splintering beyond repair. _Good_. With any luck it was Isolde's.

Rhiann smoothed her hair back and forced herself to breathe. She couldn't let herself think about this right now. Denerim and the archdemon were the priority now, not the tangles of her life.

With a sigh she knelt down and began to brush up the broken pieces into her hand, cleaning up the evidence of the only tantrum she would allow herself since making the decision to die in Alistair's place.

~*~

The village of Redcliffe was a bustle of activity under the predawn sky. The noise level was near deafening as the press of humanity stirred up blankets of thick dust in their final preparations. The dwarves had fallen into ranks already with their legendary efficiency, waiting with grim expressions while the human forces tried to organize themselves. The mages and elves would be joining up with them on the road. Rhiann had left the forces separated in an attempt to spread the cost of feeding the entire army.

Alistair pushed his way through the crowds at an easy run towards the Chantry while the two guards he had found posted outside his room that morning, much to his annoyance, struggled to keep up. It wasn't that he didn't understand Eamon's worry. He had not exactly come to the crown through a peaceful transition, after all, and grumblers quickly became dangers in this new world of politics. But Maker's _breath_, he wasn't even _king_ yet. Not that anyone seemed to care, judging by the way activity paused when he passed, and the muttered whispers and pointing that followed behind his back. Somehow in his fear of becoming king, he had never once thought to include fame in his misgivings.

"There you are," Teagan said as Alistair jogged up the front steps to where is companions were waiting for him. "Having a bit of a lie in, were you?"

"It's still _dark_, isn't it? Get the scouts underway," he answered, and Teagan sobered immediately, straightening. "And inform the captains to get their men ready. We're leaving as soon as Rhiann is here."

Teagan bowed briefly and left to follow orders.

"Listen," he continued to his remaining companions. "When we start out, I want you lot in front with Rhiann and I. Don't let Eamon bully you into the ranks with the common soldiers. Believe me, he'll try."

The others nodded their agreement.

Wynne stifled a delicate yawn. He briefly wondered what his chances were at getting her to ride with the supply carts instead of pushing herself to keep up with what would be a hard march. Probably not good.

"Alistair?" she asked. "None of us have been able to find Morrigan. Do you know where she is?"

He barely resisted a shudder. "Gone," he answered shortly, and bit his tongue to keep from adding _if she knows what's good for her_. A comment like that would only open a floodgate of unwelcome questions from Leliana.

"She's _gone_?" Leliana squeaked, and exchanged a quizzical look with Zevran. "What do you mean?"

"I mean gone. She bolted last night. Took every last scrap of equipment she carried, too. I checked her room this morning."

"Did she give any indication she was leaving?" Wynne asked, her eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

Alistair concentrated on watching for Rhiann, wishing she would show up and deflect these questions for him. He hated lying. "No."

No one said anything for a long time, to his relief. Of course the others would wonder where she was. Why was it he never _thought_ about these things?

"Maybe she got frightened," Leliana offered suddenly. "I don't know if I could blame her for that."

He almost laughed aloud at the notion. He had managed to exert some semblance of control over Morrigan only because she found the sensation of having her mana drained away horribly uncomfortable. It hadn't stopped her from knocking him nearly unconscious with her staff the time he'd had to split up a particularly nasty argument between her and Wynne. That terrifying bitch wasn't afraid of _anything_.

Apparently Sten agreed. "The witch is many things, but cowardly is not one of them. It is far more likely she got what she wanted and had no further use for us."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably.

"We're better off, I say," Wynne said curtly, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "She did nothing but belittle everyone around her."

"Except we're down one magic user," Oghren said, rubbing his chin. "Don't get me wrong, Wynne – you're definitely the broad I want at my back if my ass is on fire, but Morrigan's the one I'd want back there settin' them."

"Why would you _want _your hindquarters to be on fire?" Zevran asked curiously.

Oghren frowned at the poor turn of phrase, then shrugged. "Haven't you ever heard of foreplay?"

Leliana and Alistair sniggered, releasing the tension somewhat.

"So where's our fearless leader? Or'd she jump ship, too?"

"No. Not yet, anyway," Rhiann answered for him, coming around the corner of the Chantry wall. She glanced at Alistair. "You told them about Morrigan, then?"

He nodded, watching her carefully as she gave some last minute orders to the group. At least she didn't _look_ like she had been crying. He may have had to throw himself off the closest available cliff were that the case. It would have taken an amazing amount of dedication to have mucked up that whole scene earlier worse than he had. But then, he thought with a mental sigh, he was probably underestimating himself.

Hesitantly he ran his fingers along the inside of Rhiann's hand as she talked, and could not quite swallow a sound of relief when she didn't pull away. She didn't have a moment to spare for him though, slipping into her role as commander of the army so easily he almost envied her.

They traveled side by side, the same as always, but before where there had been easy conversation and careless banter there was mostly silence. For the first time a wall had sprung up between them, and he silently cursed everything that had put it there and everything that had to come first before he could figure out a way to overcome it.

~*~

The army was two days outside Denerim, taking a brief stop in the afternoon sun when the scouts returned. A band of refugees fleeing Denerim, about fifty in all, were camped five miles up the road. As soon as Rhiann heard she called for a horse and summoned Wynne. The healer was more than willing to ride behind her in the saddle as she and Alistair and a handful of soldiers rode out to meet them.

The ragged band consisted mostly of woman and children, but at the sound of approaching horses a group of men armed with what they could find had jumped up to stand before them protectively.

"What's happened in Denerim?" Rhiann asked as she and Alistair dismounted. Alistair reached up to help Wynne down.

"Who are you?" the man demanded. One of his companions nudged him in the ribs and pointed to the crest on the shield of the soldiers with them, and quickly the group lowered their weapons and dropped to their knees. "Apologies, Your Majesty. You understand we didn't recognize you."

"Oh, for..." Alistair rolled his eyes and motioned Wynne to the nearest group of wounded. "Get _up_ and answer her question. What's become of Denerim?"

"The darkspawn, my lord. They came upon us yesterday, while the morning fires were still burning. We only had a few hours to get away. The militia evacuated the city and stood to fight them back for as long as they could, but as we ran we saw the flames. The monsters fired everything in their path. The heat of the day tells me that it burns still."

Rhiann took the news as stoically as she could. At least they had been given some chance to escape. "We'll make provision for you. The woman we brought is a healer. Go tell her what needs to be done."

With a nod of gratitude too heavy to allow speech they dispersed. She glanced at Alistair. He betrayed nothing of his emotions, save for the smoldering of his eyes. He turned to one of the guards, and the authority in his voice surprised her. "Go to your captain. I want ten men left here to defend these people, and a cart of provisions as well. Should any other refugees pass this way you hail them. Understood?"

The man bowed and ran off to follow his orders. Alistair sighed and ran a hand over his face before catching her arm and pulling her off to the side where they wouldn't be overheard. "We still have a two day journey ahead of us. By the time we get there the darkspawn are going to have a solid hold on the city. We're going to be the invading army."

"I know," she said, rubbing her temples. "How defensible is the city?"

"How defensible is the capital of Ferelden?"

"Right. Stupid question." She took a deep breath, thinking. "I think magic is our best bet. We'll have the mages made a stand at maximum range to bring down any defenses as well as deal with their casters. The men of Redcliffe can defend them from arrows with their shields, if need be. We'll use specialists in Entropy and Primal. The healers need to hang in the back and stay safe for as long as humanly possible. We'll ensure that the mages use everything in their arsenal before sending in the infantry."

Alistair nodded. "We'll call a strategy meeting when we get back and work out the details." He was looking at her strangely, an almost bemused expression parting his lips in a small smile.

"What?"

Without answering he yanked her against him and kissed her. After so many days with them all but avoiding each other, a jolt when through her at the contact, and she forgot about their audience entirely.

"I'm marrying you," he whispered against her lips, and it was a plea as much as it was a promise.

~*~

Zevran stood on the crest of the hill, surveying the scene before them. The enormous city smoldered in a cloud of black smoke, lighting the night sky. Across the plains were hundreds of other fires – these camp fires of the army that surrounded them. Zevran gazed at the ocean of lights and could not help but feel overwhelmed. Even though he had been there, it was still hard to believe she did it – gathered an army that matched the one destroyed at Ostagar.

His companions were dealing with the looming battle the only way they knew how. Sten had moved beyond the light of the fire to meditate. Leliana had gone with him, kneeling beside him as her lips moved in silent, fervent prayer. Wynne was in front of her small tent, rubbing wearing eyes as she sorted through dozens of small packets of herbs, muttering to herself.

He was drawn from his musings from the sound of cursing and a heavy thud behind him. He turned back to the small fire he shared with his companions in time to see Alistair straighten up and rub the small of his back after dropping Oghren beside the fire. "The next time that heavy bastard passes out, he stays where he falls," he insisted, flopping to the ground beside Riordan. "How is it with an army of men at my disposal I'm still the one stuck on drunken sot duty?"

"The dwarf remains true to his convictions, I see," Riordan said with a hint of a smile.

"Oh yes – he's a very consistent sort."

Zevran joined them, glancing around. "Where is your betrothed?"

"I wish I knew," Alistair answered, poking at the fire with more force than was necessary. "She hasn't been able to go more than a couple of hours without being summoned by one person or another."

"Rhiann knows her responsibility," Riordan said. "I am very impressed to find such dedication in one as young as she. Duncan chose well when he recruited her."

Alistair nodded, distracted. "Assuming any of us survive tomorrow," he began softly, sounding hesitant, "When the others arrive … what will they say about Rhiann and I?"

"Very little, I expect." Riordan stretched his legs out in front of him and watched the fire, choosing his words carefully. "You have...broken _tradition_, perhaps, but no set rules of the Order. Just be careful, brother. She will never be the queen Ferelden expects her to be. She is a creature of duty and sacrifice. It's a harsh road you have chosen, to love a Grey Warden. I do not envy you."

Alistair absorbed that for a while before Rhiann appeared, looking pale and tired. She sat down beside Alistair, but Zevran noted with interest that she didn't quite touch him. As accustomed as he was to seeing the two of them clinging to each other, he couldn't help but feel the distance that had sprung up between them recently. Rhiann refused to speak of it when questioned, but it was no secret to their long time traveling companions that they were avoiding being alone with each other.

"Arl Eamon was looking for you," she told Alistair, rubbing one eye with the heel of her hand like a child. "I told him it could wait until morning, but I doubt I put him off for long."

"Likely you didn't put him off at _all_. It can still wait."

She nodded, yawning. "I absolutely have to sleep - right now. Are you coming?"

"In a bit," he answered, and Zevran could have cheerfully stabbed him. Rhiann hid her hurt valiantly, but he saw it in the depths of those blue eyes when she tossed a soft 'good night' in his direction. Zevran glared at Alistair, but he seemed to have caught his blunder and looked miserable, watching her walk away in frustration. _Idiot_. Even after all this time he didn't know how to handle women.

"I suppose I should go see whatever it was that Eamon wanted..." he sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

"Alistair," Riordan interrupted gently. "You two have already done more than any could have expected of you. Enjoy what little time you have together before the morn. Tomorrow will see the end of this."

Alistair opened his mouth to object, but it didn't take an assassin's expertise in reading people to see that his heart wasn't in it. Finally he only nodded, but paused on his way to the tent and looked at Zevran, some sort of internal battle waging within him. With a sharp sigh he asked, "Zevran, do you think it's possible to see that we're not disturbed?"

He couldn't even begin to think what it had cost the ex-Templar to ask him for a favor. Especially one of this nature. He must be very eager to get past whatever was happening between he and Rhiann indeed. Of course, considering all the little joys found in life that were waiting for him in that tent, the assassin could hardly blame him, but he silently thought to himself that the wretch had better not bungle things further. He couldn't help but harass him for it at least a little.

"I shall do my best, my friend, but there are those very insistent when it comes to garnering your attention. My skills in persuasion may not be up to the task."

Alistair gave him a look that told him he wasn't buying it. "Whatever they want, it can wait until morning."

"Oh? And if, say, the field around us were to go up in a wild fire and threaten the entire army?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow, but Zevran saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "Well then put it _out_. There's no need to bother me with it, now is there?"

Zevran gave him an elaborate bow. "In that case, I have no greater desire than to do my part to serve the crown, Your Majesty."

Alistair offered him a grin and disappeared into the tent, leaving Riordan chuckling beside the fire.

~*~

Rhiann hadn't a single moment alone with Alistair since leaving Redcliffe. One or the other were already sleeping when they came to bed at night. She was a little startled when he followed her now, looking pensive and unsure. Her heart wanted to break at the thought that he wasn't certain he was wanted even on this last night together, but she wasn't sure what to say to close the gap between them. For a long time they just looked at each other, drawing a breath to speak, but then just letting it escape in a soft exhale when no words would come.

Finally she had had enough of the stalemate and drew herself to her knees, pressing her lips against his before he could object. He wasn't going to, apparently, from the way his hand slid to the back of her neck and angled her head, coaxing her to part her lips and surrender her tongue. She laid back, pulling his unresisting form with her without breaking away from him. His hands worked the laces of her chemise as he settled himself between her legs, kissing her like he was dying of thirst and she was the drink of water that would save his life.

Words would come later. Right now the fire that raged between them precluded all else.

~*~

Panic was quickly rising in Alistair as he and his two companions ran through what remained of the Market District. The landscape had become an unfamiliar maze of destruction, and he had trouble distinguishing the correct path. Rubble blocked his way and smoke obscured his vision, and the three of them were doubled over coughing before he found the gates that would lead them out of the district.

Every Chantry sermon and stern lecture he'd ever received was haunting him, whispering in his mind that he would pay for his sin with her life. It would be a fitting punishment, to the Grand Cleric's way of thinking, to see Rhiann cut down by a clumsy swing or wayward arrow after what he had done to save her. He had worked himself into a near hysteria, thinking that if he could just _find _her he could stop it. He had thought he would be there, protecting her as he always had. Not left at the gates with a pathetic excuse about his life being more important than hers. He should have known.

He stopped and took as deep a breath as the smoke allowed, forcing his brain to stop reciting its prophecy of doom. He needed to think rationally about which direction to take. Running around in circles wasn't going to save anyone. There were several ways to get to Fort Drakon, and Rhiann could conceivably have taken any of them. It occurred to him that she could very well have been as lost as he was in this chaos.

"Leliana," he said, wincing at his raw throat. "I need you to check the alienage and see if they've been through there yet. But _stay_ _low_ and hide when you can – I don't know if this area is cleared. Can you do that?"

She nodded and took off running without argument, disappearing rapidly in the billows of smoke. Alistair said a quick prayer that he hadn't just sent her off to die alone, before turning to run towards Fork Drakon. He was forced to skid to an immediate stop so rapidly he almost fell. Zevran had his longbow drawn and an arrow knocked and pointed directly at him. It took one bewildered second for him to realize that his suspicions had been correct all along. "Rhiann put you up to this, didn't she?"

"You did me a favor, I must confess. I was rather at a loss on how to stop you surrounded by soldiers of the crown _and_ Leliana. She can be devilishly fierce when it comes to protecting you. Please don't reach for that." Zevran gave him a disappointed look and Alistair dropped his hand from inching towards the knife he kept on his belt. "I may not be your match in melee, Alistair, but I assure you, I can use this arrow to wipe the dirt off of your face without leaving a scratch."

"I have my doubt that you'll use it. Something tells me that killing me would defeat the purpose of keeping me here," he said dryly, eying the wicked point of the arrow. It was heavy and double pointed, designed to tear through his armor like paper.

"Indeed it would. But drugging you would not. There are many kinds of poisons in the world, my friend, and I have no intention of harming you, unless you force the issue, of course. All this requires is a scratch. However, if you insist on trying to disarm me, I'm certain the dosage that you receive should I shoot this in your leg will not be fatal. Well, I am fairly certain, anyway."

So, he wasn't likely to get that weapon away without being knocked unconscious. _Brilliant_. This is why he hadn't wanted to pit himself against Rhiann and her slimy ally in first place. "She's not going to die," he said, as calmly as he could while the urge to kill the assassin was practically humming through him. "I made sure of it, okay?"

"How?" Zevran asked suspiciously, not changing his stance. "I was told it was not possible."

He should have handled the assassin sooner, when he first suspected why he was left behind. When he stopped to think about it, he realized that of all of them Zevran was the least likely to condemn him for his actions. He probably could have avoided this simply by telling him the truth. "Morrigan," he answered shortly, then decided Zevran didn't need to know _everything_. "She used … blood magic."

Zevran's eyes widened in surprise, but he lowered the arrow fractionally. Alistair had no doubt that it came more from a desperate desire to believe him than anything. He was extremely tempted to try to knock the wretched man unconscious and leave him to his fate once that poisoned tipped dart wasn't aimed at him, but he would in all likelihood need his help if he was going to reach Fort Drakon alive. Besides, he wasn't certain he was fast enough. "Look, the magic only protects her from killing the archdemon, not from bleeding to death. I don't have time to stand here and convince you."

Zevran held his stance for several tense moments while Alistair desperately racked his brain for another option, when suddenly Zevran's arms dropped, removing the arrow from the bowstring. "You'd best be telling the truth, Alistair."

"Or what?" he couldn't resist asking. "If I'm tricking you into letting me take the killing shot you'll make me _more_ dead?"

Zevran's gaze was cool as he slung the bow back over his shoulder, stealing any doubt Alistair may have found in his words. "If it means losing the only friend that I have because I failed her, be certain I would kill everyone who ever _knew_ you, Warden."

~*~

The essence of the archdemon flooded through her, and Rhiann knew pain like she had never experienced. She was drowning in it, choking on the darkness that possessed her, when suddenly she felt a great shift. The power began to swirl within her like a whirlpool – no, a _funnel – _ using her to transform and reshape before the it drained from bone and muscle and blood, her body working to purge itself of the tainted being. The light burst forth and cleansed her, destroying the stain in her soul. For a moment that seemed suspended in eternity she was filled with the sense of Another, waking from an ageless sleep. The awareness faded from her mind, drawn to a call she could not hear.

When it was over she collapsed hard against the stone, too weak to even use her arms to catch her fall. She felt the broken bones in her arm and ribs throbbing and the sensation of lying in something warm and wet beneath her back. She closed her eyes, biting back a howl of misery. She had thought it would be brief, not this agonizingly slow sensation of her life pouring away from her, spreading across the cold stone beneath her without any power to stop it.

"Rhiann!"

She forced heavy eyes to open as Alistair slid to his knees beside her, his breath coming in huge, frightened gulps from his mad dash to the rooftop. "Oh, _Maker – _what did they do to you?" He drew his knife and cut through the laces that held her armor together at the sides as Zevran ran up behind him. The elf's expression told her everything she needed to know. She was dying.

"Alistair..."

He didn't answer, though his eyes met hers to let her known he heard. He was too intent on getting the thick leather out of the way so they could staunch the bleeding. Rhiann could not hold back a pain-filled cry when the movements jostled her, grinding her broken bones together.

"I know, love, I know, but I have to." He sounded near to sobbing. Zevran had already pulled off his cloak and was using his dagger to rip it into strips. Finally Alistair managed to work her armor off, and Rhiann closed her eyes at the way his face drained white at the sight. Something soft and dry press firmly against her middle and she cried out again. Alistair's breath hitched at the sound.

"You'll be alright – love, you've got to keep your eyes open. Look at me, please." She did as he said, but the effort was draining her last bit of strength and her vision darkened. He was turned away from her, shouting across the battlefield. "Somebody get one of those_ blasted mages_ over here!"

It was no use. She could feel her life ebbing away from her with every passing second. "Alistair," she tried again, and her voice was so low she could no longer hear it. He did, though, and he shook his head at her.

"No." He leaned forward, his hand stroking back her blood encrusted hair as he pressed his lips to her forehead. "I'm not going to let you say goodbye to me. You're not _leaving_ me here. Do you hear me?"

She was floating, sinking into a pool of black water with no bottom, her body weightless as the pain slipped away.

In a rush of cool wind that smelled faintly of lightening and ice, a wave of magic as pure and wild as nature itself gathered and bloomed within her, knitting her broken bones together and healing her insides. Rhiann gasped at the sensation as the spell grew and spread, filling her with borrowed energy down to her tingling fingertips and drawing her back from the brink of death. Out of the tumult came a familiar voice, speaking in a soothing tone she had never allowed herself to use in person. "_Farewell, my friend. Live … live gloriously."_

"Morrigan?" she murmured softly. In the chaos no one heard her faint whisper. Warmth began to spread throughout her body, beckoning her to sleep. The wounds on her skin remained open and bleeding, but the healers were coming, running towards her with spells ready. The outlines of her vision were blurring together, and she was barely aware of frantic activity around her as the fog drew her in, promising rest.

"Rhiann," Alistair called frantically, but she could no longer see him and didn't have the strength to answer. "Rhiann, stay awake, please. Don't you _dare_ die on me now."

She wished she could reassure him, but unconsciousness rose up and claimed her. She floated on a wave of sleep, but she had the strange sensation that she wasn't sinking into darkness.

She was waking up to new life.

* * *

_**A/N: **Bit of a long note this time: First off, for some strange reason I didn't get all my updates, so please forgive me if I didn't respond to your review. I try to respond to each of them and I ADORE it when people take the time to write one – it makes me feel all soft and fuzzy inside. _

_ I apparently misjudged the length of this fic – this chapter just kept getting longer until I was forced to admit I needed to split it into two. Stupid, lying muse. *shakes fist* I guess we'll just have to see._

_ Also, I would like to say thank you so much for all the well wishes. I only mentioned that I was sick to explain my tardiness (and likely frightening amount of typos – I'm still a little loopy) and never expected such a warm response. You guys rock. And yes, I am feeling much better, aside from the fact that I'll have to return to school tomorrow and once again put my writing on the back burner._

_ Finally, does anybody else find the contrasting statements concerning distance in this game incredibly ANNOYING? Dagna says it takes a week and four days to travel to the Circle Tower from Orzammar. Teagan says it takes a day to travel to the Circle Tower from Redcliffe. They look like the same distance to me. And, even though Alistair states at the beginning of the final battle scene, and I quote, "but we can't make it to Denerim in two days, can we? It's too far" - later you get comments like "tonight, on the eve of battle" and "I guess tomorrow sees the end of this," and who knows what else that indicate the journey from Redcliffe to Denerim is a one day trek, which would mean that you do all this to make Alistair the ruler of a kingdom roughly the size of DENVER. Gah!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ Warning: Extreme fluffiness ahead_

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_ Warmth_.

It was the first conscious thought that she had, the sensation of being wrapped in exquisite warmth. She drifted in and out of sleep, until the notion emerged that it _was _rest and wakefulness that she was experiencing, and those attributes were most likely not found in someone who was dead. Neither, probably, was this line of thinking. With the knowledge came other details she had been unaware of. She was lying on something soft, and a cool breeze danced across her face and tickled through her hair. Despite the quiet that dominated her senses she could hear the sound of voices speaking far away, and soft breathing coming from somewhere to her left.

Grasping the idea that she was both alive and awake, she tried to sit up and look around. Her body refused to obey her, and so she concentrated on opening her eyes. That also proved a challenge, but after a few moments of struggling her vision was filled with muted light. She blinked, and blinked again until the room slowly began to come into focus.

The first hazy figure she recognized was Alistair, slumped in a chair beside the bed and sound asleep. The open window behind him revealed a sky just beginning to show the first hint of dawn. Light from a fire in the hearth splayed across his features and she drank in the sight of him greedily, from his rumpled clothes to his shadowed jaw and finger mussed hair. He still wore the plain linen shirt stained with rusty rings from his chainmail and dark circles were apparent under his eyes even in sleep.

He looked _wonderful_.

Struggling with the effort, she lifted a hand to reach out to him but hesitated, wondering if she should wait to wake him. She didn't get the chance to decide, however, as the movement alerted another sentinel that she was awake. With a happy bark Aiden leaped to his feet and his enormous weight jostled the mattress before she was assaulted by snuffly mabari enthusiasm. A helpless giggle escaped her as she tried to fend off the attack, unable to do much more than distract him from licking her face.

The bark had awakened Alistair, and he was rubbing his face with both hands. "What's the matter with you now, you bloody animal? I already told you..." his voice drifted away as his eyes met hers. "You're awake," he breathed, then suddenly he was stretching out beside her and laying a hand to her cheek, as if to assure himself he wasn't seeing things. "Oh ye gods and a thousand other blasphemies." He ran his fingers through her hair, his eyes roaming her face. "Maker's blood, love, I thought – dammit Aiden, get _down_ – I thought we agreed you weren't going to scare me like that anymore."

"We agreed I would _try_," she replied, but her voice wouldn't raise above a raspy whisper. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips to her forehead, her hair, and she felt suddenly guilty, realizing how terrified he had truly been.

"That's not good enough," he was murmuring between kisses. "I'll lock you up if I have to, I swear it. You're never leaving my sight again. I leave you alone for a single afternoon and..." He seemed to realize he was babbling and took a deep breath. "You're not in any pain, are you? You were hurt so badly."

"I don't know," she answered. "I can't feel much of anything, to tell the truth. I think I'm going to be fine. I'm confused _why, _though."

He pulled away slightly, abruptly looking down towards their feet instead of at her, and not even his relief could hide the guilt that overcame him at her question. The days before the battle came rushing back in a flood of memory. Rhiann closed her eyes slowly, filled with the resignation of one who sees their fears confirmed.

"You slept with Morrigan."

She felt the shiver go through him even if she couldn't see it. "I...I had to." His voice trembled under the words, as though they were to heavy for something as delicate as a human voice to carry. "I couldn't just ... please, Rhiann. I _had _to."

The mental images came unbidden and she fought to banish them, learning, for the first time, perhaps, without the shadows of duty and fear clouding her love for him, just how much she saw Alistair as _hers_. Yet she couldn't summon anything as violent as anger, because she knew without a doubt _why_ he had done it, as completely as she knew that had the roles been reversed she would have willingly given her body to anyone, if it meant keeping him alive.

With that knowledge the truth began to sink in, that she _was_ alive. The Blight had been stopped and yet she remained. She had been abruptly freed from feeling the press of decision and _now _and _have to, _and Alistair had willingly taken the price of her life on himself instead of letting the cost of that duty claim her. Tears of sheer relief began to gather behind her eyelids and she felt light – so much _lighter _than she had in so very long.

His fingertips hesitantly brushed along her cheeks, wiping away the stray tears that she couldn't seem to stop, and finally she opened her eyes and looked at him. "It's _over,_" she whispered, still partially afraid that she would wake up and find it wasn't real, that the Blight still nipped at her heels and her greatest sacrifice loomed before her.

His eyes filled with stunned anguish, and when Rhiann realized what context he had taken those words in she didn't know if she wanted to kick herself or hit _him_, but she didn't have the strength for either. "Not _us,_ you idiot," she smiled through her tears. "Do you really think I'd let you escape _now_?"

His returning smile was hesitant, brightening as it dawned on him that she _meant _it and he gathered her against him with a suspiciously shaky laugh. "Bring on the chains, then," he said brightly, despite the moisture in his eyes he was trying to keep hidden. "I'm not going anywhere."

~*~

"Well, at least you've gotten your appetite back," Fergus remarked several days later, staring at the small mountain of food that his sister was steadily working her way through as she lay in bed, propped up with a heap of pillows. Rhiann grinned at him and tossed a chicken bone to Aiden, who snapped it up in a single gulp and wagged his short stump of a tail furiously, hoping for another offering.

"It's a Grey Warden thing," she mumbled around another bite, ignoring the way Fergus sighed and shook his head when she licked her fingers. Whatever. She could relearn her table manners later.

"I can still scarcely believe it, you know," he continued. "Imagine my shock when I discovered that one of the Wardens everyone in Ferelden was talking about was none other than my bratty sibling, and that she was returning to Denerim with an army behind her." He smiled at her, his eyes glowing. "Father would have been so proud of you."

She looked away, unsure how to answer that. Everyone kept insisting on speaking of her like she was a hero when she felt nothing of the sort. She hadn't really been given any choice in the matter. "I think mother would have been more pleased to see me settle down," she said instead, and chuckled. "The bit about him being king probably wouldn't have disappointed her much, either."

"Oh, you would have married him, regardless," her brother replied, and though his voice remained light his eyes were stern. "Though you may be a Grey Warden, you are my _sister _first. When you go running off all over the countryside with a man, squandering your honor, I would see the matter rectified, common born bastard or no."

"Who said I..."

"I had the most interesting little chat with your Antivan friend. He may have let it slip that your accommodations on the road were less then civilized, though I think the remark was more for your betrothed's benefit then mine."

Damn Zevran. He _would_ find that funny. "That rat bastard."

He sighed again, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "Rhiann, please try to remember that you are the one who _knows_ how to behave in proper society. You've picked up some distinctly unroyal habits since I last saw you."

"You didn't scare Alistair too badly, did you?"

At that he grinned. "Nothing outside of my rights. I'll admit, I was more than a little distraught to learn that you had made him king, thus robbing me of the chance to even take him to task for such a situation. I've half a mind to drag you both to the Chantry and see this marriage performed now."

She only giggled, unabashed. "You'd break Leliana's heart."

"The bard?" His grin turned into a true smile. "Tell me, has she managed to annoy you yet?"

Rhiann grimaced and he laughed at her. Leliana had come skipping in that morning with Wynne when the healer arrived to tend to her patient. She spent the entire visit lamenting that six months was no time to plan a proper wedding and chattering on about details, until Alistair had finally wrapped an arm around her waist and forcibly hauled her from the room so that Wynne could get down to the business at hand.

"For what its worth, I'm very happy for you, my sweet," Fergus said, softly now. "And I've no doubt you'll make a splendid queen. It's high time this country saw a Cousland on the throne."

She fiddled with the fraying corner of one of her blankets, hesitant to look at him. She didn't know how to explain to her brother that she no longer felt like a Cousland, deep down in her blood and bone. "I'll always be a Grey Warden first, Fergus."

He was quiet for long moments. "I know," he answered at last, and she knew he understood.

There came a soft knock at the door, and Alistair entered without waiting for an invitation. Fergus, always mindful of proprieties, got to his feet immediately. "Your Majesty."

He no longer flinched when addressed as such, Rhiann noted, simply said, "I understand you plan to leave us soon."

"Tomorrow, if possible, actually. There is much to be done at Highever."

"You're leaving _now_?" Rhiann exclaimed, disappointment rising.

Fergus smiled at her. "I'll be back for the wedding. But first, I have to see what's left of our home, and do what I can for the people there. They've been without protection throughout this."

"That's actually why I came," Alistair said. "I've arranged for an escort for you. The darkspawn are still fleeing and the roads aren't safe. I'm also sending one of my chancellors to accompany you to see what damage has been done to the rhan. He can report to me what Highever will require to rebuild."

Fergus gave him a courtly bow. "My thanks, your Majesty."

"Call me Alistair, please," he insisted, the king slipping away as he rubbed one of his temples. "If people keep calling me that I'm likely to forget my own name."

Fergus grinned and bent to brush his lips against Rhiann's forehead. "I'll be taking my leave, then. I'll see you again before I leave Denerim."

Once he had gone Alistair sighed and flopped beside her like an overgrown boy. "Still lying about, are you? Just because you killed one little archdemon doesn't mean you get to dump this whole ruling the country thing on me. I'm onto you."

"Talk to Wynne."

"Oh yes, because we both know she _never _overreacts," he grinned. "Honestly, though – how are you? I feel like I've just deserted you while you recover."

"You've got a few more important things to do then fetch me blankets and wait until I can move around again. And speaking of which-" she wiggled her toes. "I got feeling back in them today. I might even be able to convince Wynne to let me try walking soon."

"Don't strain yourself. For the first time we actually have the luxury to take her advice."

"I already missed your coronation."

"For which you should be nothing but grateful. It was dreadful enough being something so minor as the king. Can you imagine the pressure of being the Hero of Ferelden?" She scowled at him and he laughed.

"How often do you plan to tease me about this?"

"Relentlessly. I find it poetic justice after you were the one who put me on the throne." He chuckled at her grumbled reply and leaned in to press a kiss to her temple.

"I heard you had a talk with Zevran and Fergus earlier," she said in pure revenge, smirking to herself.

He groaned and rolled onto his back. "I don't know how I let you talk me into keeping that blasted assassin around." Rhiann smiled to herself and did not reply. Alistair had become far more tolerant of Zevran since the fight with the archdemon, admitting that however much he may still dislike the elf he had forever proven his loyalty to Rhiann.

"Tell me," he said abruptly, propping up his head on one elbow. "Is your brother likely to try and kill me?"

"Probably," she answered casually, and laughed when he threw a pillow at her.

~*~

**Three Years Later**

It was the ache in her back that woke her, and for a moment Rhiann blinked dazedly, trying to remember where she was. The feel of a strong arm wrapped around her waist brought back the memory of returning to the castle sometime late in the night, and with a sigh of contentment, she burrowed deeper into the blankets and tried to go back to sleep.

It was a useless endeavor. She had slept too solidly and the ache in her back only grew worse. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows. As carefully as she could she slid out from beneath Alistair's arm. He mumbled in his sleep but rolled over onto his stomach and continued dozing.

Quietly she opened the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony, breathing deeply and savoring the smell of cooking fires and the crisp air of the spring morning. It felt like so rarely she was home. The Landsmeet had been a little shocked to learn that Rhiann had no intention of giving up her responsibilities as a Grey Warden, and even more so to find that she would spend so much of her time traveling. Alistair, however, was in full support of this arrangement, which was the only reason the nobility tolerated it. He had become a man to be reckoned with, her husband, a popular king who ruled fairly, wielding previously untapped power in his close alliances with the leaders of the other races of Ferelden.

It wasn't quite enough to quiet all the mutters, and she supposed she should be grateful that the early winter had been too harsh to allow for traveling and forced her to remain in Denerim. She was sure at least one ambitious arl with a marriageable daughter would have thought to play up doubts considering the continuation of the Theirin bloodline. As it was, however, that was one concern she had managed to side step entirely. She recalled with a small smile the way Alistair had taken full advantage of his wife's immobility and kept her shut away in their bedchamber for an obscene amount of time during the slow winter months. No matter how much the staff had whispered behind their backs at such a display, they had changed their tune quickly enough with the announcement that the king would at last have his heir.

She closed her eyes and let the breeze caress her skin, her hair softly dancing in long strands behind her. Now that her pregnancy had become too obvious to hide any longer, she intended to make this return to Denerim a good long one. Maybe in that time she could even determine a way for the new order of Wardens to function without her presence. She was beginning to feel a new longing in her soul, to live in quiet contentment for a time and raise her child with all the care she had been given growing up.

Thinking of the baby that grew beneath her heart brought about a wave of uncertainty. Even in her happiest moments her thoughts would occasionally wander to the mystery child out there already, and she sighed to herself. She could not fault Alistair for doing all he could to save her that day – wasn't she ready to do the same? - but the seed of doubt and anxiety had taken root and was not easy pulled from it's place in her mind. It was the one thing she couldn't really speak to him about. He wanted to forget it ever happened, having shouted at her once in one of their rare drawn out, screaming arguments that he intended to keep his end of the bargain and never _ever_ think about it again.

She had made no such promise to Morrigan. One day, eventually, she would track her down and see for her own eyes what consequences they had wrought.

She heard the sound of bare feet approaching and smiled to herself. Even if her senses weren't quite as sharp as they had been when every day had been a life or death struggle, he still couldn't sneak up on her. He didn't seem to be trying very hard this time, yawning as he came up behind her wearing only his breeches and a blanket around his shoulders.

"It's cold out here," Alistair chided gently, wrapping both arms and the blanket around her.

She leaned back into his embrace. "I think you're getting too accustomed to palace life."

He laughed softly and his hands slid carefully over her swollen middle. "Why shouldn't I? Palace life has been good to me. What are you doing up already? I thought you were exhausted."

"I couldn't sleep. I swear, this must be the beastly son you wanted. No daughter would kick her mother so hard."

He made a scoffing sound. "_Your_ daughter? I wouldn't wager on that."

The city began to come to life below them and they stood quietly for a long time, enjoying a few moments of stolen peace. Rhiann pushed all other concerns out of her mind, letting her head roll back and settle on his shoulder, and decided they would do splendidly for now.

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**~The End~**

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_Once again just wanted to thank the readers who stuck with this story. My mind is quiet for now so don't know when I'll be posting again. I will say that Oaths was the story I intended to write, so there will be no sequel to this ending or new Alistair/Rhiann stories coming from this corner. But thanks to the honor-bound, oath-sworn, rose-bearing, evil-step-mother-having knight in shining armor-turn-lost prince of the realm-turn-king that appeals to fairy tale lover in all of us, I'm sure I'll come up with something soon :) Thanks again for reading.  
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